


The Warrior and the Scribe

by Dach



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Brothers Dori and Nori and Ori, Cuddles, Dwalin Is A Softie, Dwalin will ride a squirrel to Mordor, Dwori - Freeform, Fluff, Fíli is a Little Shit, Humor, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kisses, Kíli Is a Little Shit, M/M, Nori is a Little Shit, Nori the Cockblocker, Ori Is A Sweetheart, Protective Dori, These two lil idiots'll be the death of me, awwww, lmao this is schmoopy af
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:43:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9136765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dach/pseuds/Dach
Summary: It started when Ori healed Dwalin. Dwalin's attraction to the scribe, that is. And so he resolves to stay his distance. A resolve which is quickly shattered to peices by one night of boredom and lack of conversation. And so Dwalin falls in love with the scribe.





	

Dwalin stared very stubbornly at a tree. The back of it, to be exact. That _infuriating, little,_ SCRIBE!

    It had started after the warg attack at the entrance of Westham Forest. All of the company members were inured; only the burglar survived without any real consequences besides a shaken mind. Ori had received a cut along his cheek, Balin, a nasty bruise on his forehead, and the rest of the company, various assorted injuries. Dwalin himself had an achy shoulder, but had dismissed Oin to tend to the others; their cases were more urgent. Apparently, he had not hid the shoulder wound well enough because sharp-eyed, beautifu- _Mahal! Not. Beautiful._ Ori had caught on. The instant that they got another breather, he sat Dwalin down on a log and had begun to berate him.

    Dwalin had been so shocked at how assertive the scribe was being that he took the entire rant without a word. It had something to do with how “ _thick-headed”_ and “ _illogical”_ he was being. Back in the present, the smaller dwarf had rolled up Dwalin’s left sleeve, ignoring the warrior’s hiss of pain. White - that was the color that Ori turned. Dwalin looked at his shoulder and flexed it experimentally. Beside the hot flare of pain, the weirdly shaped bone, and mottled color, it seemed perfectly alright. Ori gritted his teeth.

    “You. Idiot.” 

    Dwalin’s head shot up in shock. Did the little dwarf just _insult_ him?! “Huh…?”

    This seemed to be the final straw for Ori, because he threw up his hands in the air. Exasperation was visible in his features. “You! You are supposed to protect the Durins! But how did you ever plan on doing that with a dislocated shoulder?!”

    Dwalin frowned. _It’s dislocated? Maybe I’ll need to ask Oin for a poultice after all._ Dwalin grimaced. _What would have happened if another warg attack happened? How would I wield Biter?_ Dwalin fingered the blade of the said axe, still not responding. Finally, Ori placed his hands on the flesh of Dwalin’s shoulder. The warrior tried to ignore the light pressure and warm touch. _Wait… that’s getting a bit firm…_ CRACK!

    The warrior gasped as spots of light flickered behind his eyes. _OWOWOWOWOW-_

    “Oi! That hurt!”

    Ori frowned as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small bronze container. Opening it, he revealed the vile yellow “ointment” that Oin normally used for muscle bruising.

“I was popping it back in place.” The scribe informed the other. Spreading the thick yellow paste over the still throbbing muscle of Dwalin’s shoulder, Ori continued. “Surely that couldn’t have hurt _too_ much?”

    Dwalin bit back a snappy reply at the look of worry that flashed across Ori’s face as he gently prodded the newly reset bone. Dwalin winced at the dull pain of the scrutinization but did his best to make his voice as gentle as possible. “No, lad. Ye just shocked me a bit.” When Ori shot him a disbelieving expression, Dwalin elaborated. “A mite.”

    Rolling his eyes (yet looking relieved nonetheless), Ori resumed his ministrations and Dwalin did his best to ignore the lack of space between them. Finally, the scribe was finished and a white bandage marked the completion of his work. Dwalin cleared his throat, nodded gruffly and stood up. Shaking the sleeve of his tunic of the hurt and ignoring the pain, he picked his way over to Balin. Even as the warrior and his brother spoke of rations, Dwalin could sense Ori’s gaze on him. He felt a bit bad for not thanking him, but pushed the feeling down.

Dwalin wasn’t blind; he knew that he was attracted to the youngest Ri brother. Therefore, it was for the good of the company that he ignored him for the rest of the journey.

The younger brother of Balin pursed his lips; he was _not_ being foolish, thank you very much consciousness.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~after setting up camp~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Throughout dinner, Dwalin still wasn’t able to contain himself. He shot at least ten nervous glances towards Ori. And his gaze was met with the flushed stare of the other three times. When this happened again, Dwalin himself flushed a bright red and determinedly pushed back from the bowl of cram. Stalking over to his bedroll, he hunkered down with closed eyes, begging sleep to take him.

No such luck.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~an hour later~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Dwalin was sprawled across the furs, a frown on his face as he surveyed the stars. It had been a while, but he hadn't even noticed that the camp conversation had ceased. The fire was crackling loudly in the silence. Groaning, Dwalin abandoned all pretense of getting sleep and stood. The warrior grumbled as he made his way over to the large boulder just beyond the fire; he might as well help whoever was on watch.

The instant Dwalin caught sight of the current dwarf on guard, he froze. _Of all things holy! Oh_ MAHAL _no!!!_

True enough to his bad luck, Ori was crouched at the foot of the stone. The scribe's slingshot (Dwalin always had to suppress a laugh at the clearly ineffective weapon) was resting on his knee, and Ori’s gaze was tethered to the woods around them. Dwalin cursed mentally once more.

 _One… Two… Thr- Mahal!_ On Dwalin’s third step backwards, he stepped on a twig. Ori was facing him in an instant, his slingshot punted directly between the warrior's eyes. Dwalin gulped. _Perhaps not such an ineffective weapon after all…_

Ori lowered his slingshot, blushing heavily. An awkward silence lingered. “... How is your arm?”

Dwalin cleared his own throat, trying his best to ignore the not-so-pleasant tingling in said bone. “Perfectly alright.” His voice was gruff. “I was just checking that you were paying close attention. If you had allowed an orc to attack, even if they could only slaughter one or two dwarrow before awaking the rest of us, it would have been purely indefensible and…” The warrior trailed off. Ori was staring at Dwalin with wide eyes.

“...indefensible?”

“It’s a word!” Dwalin defended. Ori smiled.

“It is. I just didn’t think that you would know it!”

Dwalin sputtered until he realised that a grin was making its way across the other’s face. “You little dwarf!”

Ori reclined against the boulder, growing noticeably more comfortable. “I’m glad you noticed. I wouldn’t want you thinking I was a man or, Mahal forbid, an elf!”

“No, not that.” Dwalin was growing stronger in the banter. “Although a man is plausible.”

“I’m not nearly tall enough!” Ori announced proudly. “Although I am sure that you are another story…”

“No man is five foot!”

“But a child is.”

“No child has such a splendid beard!” Dwalin teased, leaning forward so said beard brushed over Ori’s forehead.

The scribe rolled his eyes a little and brushed the offending hair away from his face.

“No child is such an egocentric.”

“...egocentric?” Dwalin’s brow furrowed.

“Aye. It’s a word.” Ori said. Then his eyes widened as he realised where it was going.

“I just didn’t think you would know it!” Dwalin was laughing as he finished the sentence, clearly proud of outwitting the younger. Ori chortled.

“I am a scribe; it would be shame if I did not know such minor words.”

Dwalin cocked an eyebrow. “Minor? If I didn’t know any better, I would think you were trying to lord your superior vocabulary over me!”

“And what makes you think that you know better?”

The warrior had to muffle his roar of laughter so as to avoid waking the camp. When he finally stopped laughing, Dwalin slid onto the rock with Ori, no longer feeling awkward.

“So,” Dwalin casually tossed his axes onto the bedroll and turned his full attention to Ori. “What is it like being a scribe?”

The younger dwarf flushed slightly at the attention but he replied easily enough, chatting with Dwalin about the merits of bound books versus leather molded. If one were to ask Dwalin what the conversation had been about, the dwarf wouldn’t have been able to answer, too caught up in Ori’s eyes (they were a golden hazel. Dwalin had noticed against his will. He was certainly not staring at them like they held the secrets of Arda). However, sometime later, Dwalin would wonder how it was that he could recall the steps to steeping leather in preparation for binding perfectly, despite his train of thought wandering so frequently. Finally, as it was just starting to get light out, Ori bid Dwalin a good night.

The burly warrior stared after the scribe for a few moments before he was distracted by a sour looking Nori slipping into Ori’s abandoned post. Dwalin grunted a casual greeting and was immediately fixed with a glare.

“Ye’ had better not fancy ‘im.”

Never one to beat around the bush, Nori was.

Immediately, Dwalin began to sputter inconclusive replies, his mind whirling in desperation. “So what if I do?” He finally answered. Immediately, he knew it was the wrong answer, for Nori puffed himself up and began to look as dangerous as a cornered Thorin Oakenshield.

“So what if he’s my younger brother!” Nori snarled. Dwalin bristled. He knew that he could probably take Nori in a fair fight, but Nori wasn’t known for his fair fighting. And Nori looked in a fighting mood.

“What makes you think I couldn’t be with ‘im?” said Dwalin.

“You are some crazy warrior! Ori needs someone who can listen to him prattle on about leatherbound books!”

“I’ll have ye know that I am not some crazy warrior and tha’ I just talked about leatherbound books with ‘im. And it’s not prattling!”

Nori was still seething (later, Dwalin would swear that he was frothing at the mouth) but his hackles seemed a bit smoothed over at Dwalin's instinctive defense of the other's brother. He gritted his teeth. “You still need ta give me a reason as to why you should have any sorta right to ‘im.”

Rounding on the thief with a glare, Dwalin practically spat: “Because I’m willing to protect ‘im!” He calmed slightly as he began to rattle off more reasons. “Per’aps I don’ deserve ‘im, but the least I can do is to try.” Now that the warrior was calm, his khuzdul accent was lessening. Nori seemed to size him up before a feral grin began stretching across his features.

“Damn righ’ you don’.” He pushed Dwalin, gently towards the bedrolls, not too unkindly considering their... _conversation_ matter. “Now go get some bloody rest so I can watch ya making eyes with him ‘morrow.”

    Immediately after fixing Nori with a glare that could melt the mithril that Thorin crafted, a look of shock crossed his face. “Mahal, Nori! I didn’t even admit I liked ‘im to myself yet!”

    When Nori did nothing but grin unrepentantly, Dwalin stumbled over to his bedroll and pulled the ratty fur over his shoulders, muttering about ‘bloody sadists’ all the while.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~next morning~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

    Unfortunately, the easy conversation from the night before had not carried into late morning, and Ori and Dwalin were back to being awkward. Even the normally solem and detached Thorin seemed to notice, and Dwalin was forced to send him a glare when he noticed the king sniggering behind his hand. Stumbling over words wasn’t even that funny, by Mahal!

    In fact, it wasn’t until they were back on the road that the awkwardness decided to diminish. This time, instead of leather bound books, battle axes were the topic of the conversation.

    “If you wield them from the end of the hilt,” Dwalin was explaining. “You can get a bit more force than if you wield them higher up.” Ori nodded and scribbled in his book, no doubt putting the note down for future reference. “But if ye hold it higher up, you can swing it faster. So ye get when you would use the axe and how you would hold it?” The warrior quizzed Ori gently, and it was obvious to the entire company that Dori was grudgingly impressed. Or at the very least, he certainly appreciated the king’s guard teaching his younger brother defend himself.

  “Holding it high on the hilt would be most effective for one to one combat, while holding it lower is better for slower assailants, such as trolls, wargs, and-”

“Alright, alright!” Dwalin laughed, admiring the younger dwarf. “You certainly have a good memory!”

If Ori blushed (and if Dwalin was secretly pleased that he had caused such a reaction) it was entirely their buisness and their buisness alone. Soon, Kili and Fili had joined the conversation and, much to Dwalin’s chagrin, were eagerly recounting a night he had spent drunk in a ratty tavern.

“-And then Mister Dwalin leapt off the table declaring that he would ride to Mordor on a mouse!” Fili roared, brandishing his sword as Kili leapt off a table and staggered two feet before pretending to pass out on the dirt. Normally untouchable Dwalin was flushed a bright red.

“I did not.” He grunted quietly.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” Ori snorted, stepping up beside Dwalin to pack his own pony. Dwalin started and shot him a sheepish grin.

“I didn’t,” The warrior glanced around conspiratorially. “I said I would ride on a squirrel.”

Ori stared at him in shock for promptly 3.2 seconds before collapsing to the ground in laughter. He was still clutching at his sides when he gasped: “Oh Mahal! That’s rich!”

Dwalin grinning and crouched beside Ori, pulling his to his feet even as the younger dwarf continued to sputter in laughter. Because the scribe was swaying dangerously, Dwalin was “forced” to envelop him in what was a near hug. Finally, Ori stopped laughing. His eyes were still alight with mirth, Dwalin noted. And they were a dangerous shade of golden brown. There were little flecks of green too, Dwalin realised, as he leaned in slightly, as if trying to examine them further. Ori seemed to be equally transfixed by Dwalin’s gray eyes, and he leaned nearly imperceptibly closer.

Then Dwalin felt it. The little, hot breaths of Ori were caressing his lips. He wanted to lean just a bit closer, to get closer to Ori, to feel Ori, and to _kiss_ him. Their noses brushed and Ori leaned ever so slightly to the left, his head tilting up-

“Why, HELLO!”

They startled apart as Nori clomped by and clapped them both (Dwalin got the feeling that his own clap was much harder than Ori’s) on the shoulders. “We’re heading out now.”

Ori made an embarrassed squeaking sound but barely moved, transfixed in mortification. Dwalin sighed, shot Nori a look of pure annoyance (the thief retaliated with a smirk), and promptly lifted Ori onto his pony. Dwalin kept a steady glare fixed on Nori as he mounted his own. Unfortunately, the glare was slightly less effective with a heavy blush spreading over his cheeks.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~that night~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Dwalin couldn't help but to grumble about saddle-stiffness as he dismounted from his pony. However, when Ori slipped off of his pony, visibly wincing, Dwalin’s own pain was forgotten. The mighty warrior stepped forwards and promptly lifted Ori into his arms.

“Dwalin!” squeaked the scribe, his face flaming red as the warrior maneuvered him over to were Bofur was setting up the fire. Dwalin grunted an apology and set down the younger dwarf, practically collapsing beside him with a groan. Ori couldn’t help but to laugh, it appeared, and Dwalin’s glare eventually turned to a sheepish gaze, his mouth twitching at the corners. Ori leaned in slightly, and this time, even knowing that the entire company was watching, Dwalin _kissed_ him. The warrior wasn’t going to pass up his second chance.

The scribe allowed a small hum of surprise, but his eyes closed and he kissed back, his lips soft and warm as they brushed Dwalin’s own chapped ones. They broke apart, both blushing furiously. Dwalin, knowing that if he opened his mouth, nothing but a stream of stutters would emerge, held up his calloused hand. Ori grasped it with a nod and a grin, and their fingers intertwined automatically. It was then that they became aware of the loud wolf-whistles coming from the various company members.

Dori was the only mute member, and he looked fit to kill. However, Nori, a placating hand on his elder brother's shoulder, appeared to be reminding him of something. With a glower, Dori stayed his ground. A private sigh escaped Dwalin and Ori noticed. Following the warrior’s gaze, the scribe saw his brother, glowering but with lips twitching into a smile. He laughed once more, and planted a kiss upon Dwalin’s whiskered cheek.

Kili leapt forward and, before Ori’s lips had parted from Dwalin’s beard, showered them both with small scraps of cloth. “Confetti!” He announced, grinning. His brother laughed a laugh which proved contagious for the entire company, and Dwalin promptly unrolled his bedroll, situating Ori upon it before snuggling within. Their fingers remained intertwined, and Ori smiled at his warrior, brushing a final kiss across his lips before moving to help Bombur with dinner.

Dwalin watched his scribe walk away with a smile. Never again would he pass up an opportunity. _Mahal,_ Dwalin cursed mentally. _I shoulda just kissed him when he was still fixing up my arm!_

Dwalin settled back against his make-shift pillow, another smile making it’s way to his lips.


End file.
